


PLAYING WITH FIRE

by AgnesClementine



Series: TO BE THE SUN [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Feels, Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 13:39:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: He chews and looks up from his plate when Daniel nudges his foot under the table. He grins at Mick and quickly flicks his eyes to the window.Wanna go for a ride later?Mick grins back because, hell yeah, he wants to go for a ride.





	PLAYING WITH FIRE

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic in this series (that doubles as my gen piece for Gen Valentine's event) and I hope you guys like it. 
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

Mick's pulse hammers in his ears. The dull _thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_ setting a rhythm of anticipation in his skull as he settles on the sofa and watches his father load a few logs into the fireplace.

They don’t use the fireplace much. In fact, it’s only when his father wants to have a drink after dinner that he lights it up. He starts the fire before they eat so that it's already going strong by the time he sits in his armchair with a beer or a glass of scotch. _It sets the mood_ , he says when Mick’s mom rolls her eyes at him. She’s not a fan of fire and smoke, but Mick thinks it’s pretty amazing. He loves watching the flames flick up, eating at the oxygen and blackening the wood. There’s a certain kind of beauty in it.

His dad strikes a match, a small spark of fire coming to life, and Mick leans forward, by now sitting on the edge of his seat, to see it better as it latches to a log and slowly starts consuming it. He wipes his palms on his jeans, eyes transfixed on the orange flames crackling in front of him.

He watches it curling up, draping over the wood and licking the walls of the fireplace; like it's gently running its fingers over it with a feather-light touch, but Mick sees its strength in each new layer of sooth it leaves behind-

“Mick!”

He jerks when Julia calls his name, her hand landing on his shoulder. At some point, his father had left and he found himself sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“C’mon, mom says dinner is ready.” His sister tells him.

He shakes the fog from his head and stands up, then follows her into the dining room on numb legs.

“There you are,” their mother smiles when they take their seats, “daydreaming again?”

Daniel snorts from across the table, “About Krissy Doner, I bet,” he teases.

Mick feels his cheeks heat up and kicks his older brother under the table, “Shut up. I was not.” He turns to their mom, “Just zoned out a bit, is all.”

She shakes her head at their antics, and the table quiets down when their dad clears his throat.   _Right, dinner_.

They all politely fill their plates, passing around bread slices and salad bowls. Mick likes dinner time- and it’s not even because Rory dinners are an equivalent of a lunch.

Breakfasts are a complete flurry of shouting and getting ready for school (at least in Julia, James and Holly’s cases), so Mick barely has a chance to exchange a few words with his siblings. And lunches are spent in near silence because everyone is just either too tired or too hungry (or both) to talk. Dinners are perfect. If Mick finishes his chores in time for lunch, then his afternoon is free and he can mostly do whatever he wants.

Daniel is off at college, out in Central City, most of the time, but whenever he visits, he makes sure to take them all out for some ‘siblings bonding’ time. Mick is not completely comfortable when they go out- he thinks that people here don’t like him, or pity him- but he can’t say that the time he spends with his siblings is wasted. So they’d spend the afternoon fooling around, and then they’d join their parents for dinner. Their dad is usually pretty serious, but even he cracks up from time to time when they’re all together.

“Mooom, it won't cut," Holly intones, struggling with her fork and a knife that's just that side of dull. Mick makes a note to sharpen it when he finds the time.

“A second, sweetie- Mick, can you-“ their mom trails off, busy holding a bowl of mashed potatoes over the table, so their dad can reach it.

Mick shoves a forkful of salad in his mouth and hums in compliance before carefully taking the cutlery from her tiny hands. “Alright, let’s tackle this steak once more,” he says, switching her knife with his own, and cuts the meat in small squares that she deems acceptable. He slides the plate back in front of her, “There you go.”

She beams at him and digs in. For an eight-year-old, she sure has a big appetite.

“I’m going over to Jeff’s in the morning,” his dad starts, directing it mostly at Mick,” so you gotta go to the store and pick up the bolts for the tractor. Morning, 9 AM.”

Mick hums in acknowledgment. So he'll have to get up earlier to feed the chickens and let the cattle to the pasture-

“Mick,” his dad says expectantly.

Mick sighs, “Morning, 9 AM. I got it.”

His dad nods. Mick doesn’t have the best track record with remembering things- _he spends too much time in his head, he knows_ \- and his dad wants to make sure Mick doesn’t forget something important like this. His mom will stick a note on the fridge before they go to sleep, so it’s gonna be fine.

“That means you gotta get up earlier, you know?” He adds.

"Yeah, okay," Mick responds and keeps eating.

“How’s college, honey?” Their mom asks Daniel after a moment.

He shrugs, barely chewing with how much food he shoved in his mouth. He makes a noise that sounds vaguely like, “Fine,” then swallows and speaks properly. “The food in cafeteria still sucks, but it’s alright.” He says with a sigh.

“Dude, you’re like done in a few months, what are you complaining about?” James pipes up. He’s not looking forward to starting high school next year.

“And why are you still whining about school?” Daniel retorts.

“I don’t need four more years of math, Danny. I don’t see the point.” James responds miserably. Julie rolls her eyes next to him; being his twin sister, she undoubtedly had to listen to this more than once.

“It’s too bad you’re leaving tonight. Johnsons are coming over tomorrow and they haven’t seen you in ages,” their mom says sadly, changing the topic before the quarrel can start.

(And it would start. Mick has witnessed the oldest son vs. youngest son fights and he’s lucky he’s slotted in the middle and not attending school anymore so he can just let them hash it out on their own. Besides, there are no punches thrown and in that case, Mick would rather share a bowl of popcorn with Julie and listen to them insult each other by comparing each other to hated relatives and crappy movies.)

Julie and James make identical expressions of horror at the announcement.

“ _Johnsons are coming over?!_ ”

“Mrs. Johnson smells like flour,” Julie whines.

“Julie,” their mom reprimands, but it’s more of a “ _yeah, but we’ll ignore it_ ” than actual scolding.

_She kind of does, though_.

“And Mr. Johnson is always talking about war. I don’t care how he dried his socks in France, mom,” James contributes, face scrunched up with distaste.

Mick agrees, but he does like it when Mr. Johnson talks about bombs. That’s pretty cool.

He chews and looks up from his plate when Daniel nudges his foot under the table. He grins at Mick and quickly flicks his eyes to the window.

_Wanna go for a ride later?_

Mick grins back because, _hell yeah_ , he wants to go for a ride.

  * ●●●●



They sneak out after the dinner and after everyone went to sleep already, pushing Daniel's car down the road until they're far enough that the sound of an engine wouldn't wake up anyone. Then they get in and Mick feels giddy, his whole body practically vibrating with the car when Daniel turns on the engine because his brother is a crazy driver and the rush he gets is _amazing_.

They speed down the dirt roads, the rock station turned up all the way. Mick feels the music drumming underneath his skin, washing over him as both of them shouts into the night.

He lets Mick take the wheel once they arrive at an empty field, allowing them to fool around without worrying about wrapping the car around a tree or something equally not fun. Daniel might be six years older than Mick, but he was always as much of a best friend to him as he was the big brother. It’s a fine line that Daniel walks effortlessly.

Once their heads start spinning from driving around in circles for who knows how long, they get out to sprawl over the ground in front of the car, headlights serving as lamps while they drink soda (“ _Mom and dad would end me if I gave you beer, Mickey, you know that._ ”) and talk.

“So,” Daniel starts, setting his soda aside, “Krissy Doner.”

Mick groans. You mention someone is hot _once_ and of course, it comes back to haunt you. It's not even like that.

“I regret saying anything to you about that.” He says.

Daniel grins at him. “Aw, you don’t mean that. But seriously, how’s that going?”

“It’s not.”

“Why?”

Mick shrugs, “We tried. It didn’t work. Turns out we’re not, uh, each others’ type.” Especially because Krissy prefers her guys to be… well, _girls_. Mick promised not to tell anyone- not hard to do since he doesn't talk to anyone besides his family- because her parents are some religious stuck up assholes and because she was actually nice to him. It sucks for her, although she told him she's getting out of Keystone as soon as she turns 18. 

Daniel hums, “Sorry. But there’s plenty more fish in the sea, right?”

Mick nods, “Yep,” although he doesn’t really care.

“You’re coming back for Easter, right?” He asks, changing the topic. Mick doesn’t mind talking about girls and dating; it’s just that it doesn’t really appeal to him as much as everyone makes it out it should. He can jerk off to a Playboy magazine or porn just fine (and it’s not like he doesn’t like getting handsy with a girl), so there’s nothing he should talk about with anyone.

Daniel hums again, taking out his cigarettes and the lighter. Mick watches hungrily as he thumbs the lighter open and lights the end of the cigarette. He doesn’t like smoking; after a lot of pleading, Daniel had let him try it once, but he didn’t like the feeling of smoke going down his throat and the taste of nicotine. But he likes how the cigarette glows red each time Daniel takes a drag. It’s strangely hypnotizing. His fingers itch for a box of matches or his own lighter, but he lies down and looks out at the dark sky.

“You getting tired?” His brother asks him.

“What? No,” Mick responds, acting offended. _He’s not five, he can stay up however long he wants_.

Daniel chuckles, “Sure. But we both have to be up early tomorrow- err, today, I guess, so we better get going,” he says, standing up and pulling Mick to his feet as well.

He finishes off his cigarette and then drives them home again. He drives like a madman for a better chunk of the trip, but then slows down and stops before they reach their family property. They push the car back to the house again and sneak in through the back door. They've been doing this for a few years, so they can make their way through the house in the pitch darkness of the night. 

Mick craws into his bed with his heart still beating a bit stronger from the adrenaline rush and the feeling of cool night air still clinging to his skin. He reaches into a drawer of his nightstand and takes out a lighter he bought at the gas station when his dad sent him off to pay for the gas a few weeks back.

He lays on his back, propping himself up a little, and flicks it on. A small flame dances in front of his eyes, shimmering orange and yellow. Mick runs his fingers above it, feeling the warmth just on a border of his reach. He can feel his heart rate slowing down, his whole body relaxing. He gets closer to the fire with each stroke of his fingers, taking in the warmth and the flurry of disrupted flame until he has to jerk away with a sharp sting on his fingertips. He rubs his hand on the cool sheets and puts away the lighter because yeah, he has to get up early.

He doesn’t dream, but he sinks into sleep with the smell of burning wood in the fireplace, crackling fire pulsing in that small, confined space with so much strength it takes his breath away, and the sound of paper hissing as it’s being eaten away by red embers with each breath.


End file.
